The Fields Grow White
by Ava Monroe
Summary: Post HPB ficlet: During the summer, Harry makes a short side trip from his quest. He returns briefly to Hogwarts for a conversation. Major Spoilers: based on ch. 30, the White Tomb. R&R please!


**Disclaimers:** Harry Potter and Friends do not belong to me. Why? Is someone offering them? If so, pick me! The title comes from Victor Hugo (see AN).

**Author's Notes:** I wrote this in response to the last chapter of HBP- so there are major spoilers in here! The title of the poem comes from the English translation of my favourite poem in the world "Demain dès l'aube" by Victor Hugo (I like it better in French, but if you're interested, it's called Tomorrow at Dawn). I'd love to include the whole poem, but since that's not allowed, you could always Google it. There is also a reference to flowers at the end of the story that comes from the same poem. Please review if you have a quick minute. This is only my second story and I'm dying for comments (constructive please)- how else will I get better? Enjoy! Ava:)

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**The Fields Grow White**

**By Ava Monroe**

It gleamed brightly despite the overcast sky. It stood strong and still, and shone a clean pure white that reflected softly against the water's surface to its left. It was surrounded by a crisp green lawn that appeared to be lovingly maintained and dozens of floral tributes covering the spectrum from gaudy arrangements the size of a kneazle to simple bouquets of white daisies. It was a simple yet beautiful tomb of solid marble. It brought to mind fallen kings of the past and suggested the nobility of its dweller. Inside rested one of the greatest men in wizarding history, Albus Dumbledore. Outside stood the fortress of Light: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The castle's fields were barren save the wild grasses and the menacing forest looming on its boundaries. No children played outside, none roamed the confusing, twisting halls that made up the school. It was late July and it was wartime. Targets, or beacons depending on one's perspective, were abandoned during such times in the hopes of preventing even more tragedy. One person remained guarding the treasury; one person remained standing for the legacy of her predecessor.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Three weeks later, at the height of summer, a young man approached the gates of Hogwarts. He came alone yet he repeatedly glanced over his shoulder as if he were expecting someone. He hesitated, tentatively reaching out to unlatch the doors. He remembered his eventful arrival almost a year before. Someone (his own He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) had grudgingly welcomed him into the only home he had ever know. With this memory came a wave a nausea and anger; the former being a recent affliction whenever he thought of his You-Know-Who. Even Voldemort failed to raise the same level of ire and foul sentiment.

Touching the padlock, expecting a shock or some similar reaction, Harry Potter was surprised when the gates noisily opened before him. The wrought iron swung slowly, creaking with disuse. He cautiously drew his wand with his right hand and stuck his left through the doorway anticipating a magical barrier or the effects of a curse. Nothing happened.

Shrugging his shoulders, riffling his left hand through his messy black hair, Harry proceeded onto Hogwarts' grounds. Again, he checked over his right shoulder, his brow creasing in thought, concern or confusion. He slowly began following the dirt path that was fighting for space against the advancing weeds and wild grasses.

_Hagrid always kept the paths well groomed_, Harry thought with a bit of concern over the future of his large friend who was currently living in the relative safety of the Forbidden Forest with his giant brother, Grawp. Had he had enough time on this unscheduled stop, he would have arranged for a visit with Hagrid.

Harry paused for a moment at the peak of the hill overlooking Hagrid's hut, before he turned himself in the direction of lake and the reason for his unplanned pilgrimage to Hogwarts, a place he had vowed not to return to until his work was done.

-0-0-0-0-0-

From the tall tower sentinel of the castle, a woman stood in front of a paned-glass window, watching the slow progress of the young wizard's trek across the grounds. Her shoulders were slightly bent, carrying a weight that had become a burden far earlier than she had expected.

In reality, she never thought that Albus Dumbledore's legacy would pass to her. He was ageless, it seemed. Strong, steadfast and unstoppable. Until he had been violently and prematurely brought to a halt and so betrayed.

And so Minerva McGonagall stood in her tower at the far window of the Headmistress's office that she didn't really want. She watched Harry Potter's journey with a small upturn of the right corner of her lips, feeling a lightness of spirit in seeing his return. Minerva hadn't expected it, but she had hoped for it. And in hoping she had waited.

Taking a calming breath in the stillness of the empty castle, Minerva turned from her lookout and made her way out of her office.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Harry knew Hogwarts like the back of his hand. It was his playground, his haven, his house, his vacation home, his Utopia and his Achilles Heel. The school and its ground drew him back year after year with the promise of freedom, understanding, acceptance and possibility. Every year Harry experienced these very things. He also took with him after every year the experience of distrust, segregation, disappointment and sadness. Hogwarts held his best and worst memories.

After six years of uncertainty, Harry could now say with conviction that the bad memories outweighed the good. He could see Sirius locked in a tower cell. He remembered Professor Lupin transforming violently and terrifyingly into a monster beyond either of their control. He saw in his mind's eye Cedric Diggory's death, Professor Moody's manipulation, Doris Umbridge's mutilation and totalitarian regime. He felt the presence of his most hated professor in every brick.

So it was with mixed feelings and some trepidation that Harry had returned to this place to begin with. He, Ron and Hermione had stopped in Hogsmeade after Bill and Fleur's wedding for a bottle Butterbeer and a place to stay for the night before continuing on their way to Godric's Hollow. Harry had only recently left Number 4 Private Drive and the company of the Dursley's for the last time, having come of age only 4 days ago.

Early this morning, while Ron was sleeping off one too many pints of Butterbeer and a few too many shots of Firewhiskey, and while Hermione was busy researching the history of horcruxes over breakfast, Harry had quietly left the inn. He had carefully walked up the main street while he marvelled over the silence of solitude, having spent the last month with Ron and Hermione practically around the clock. He also wondered at his incredible luck in making it all the way to Hogwarts without either of them discovering he'd left.

Still doubting his turn of good luck, Harry checked over his shoulder once again only to see an empty dirt trail.

Breaking away from his musings, Harry was startled to discover that he had arrived at the hill before Professor Dumbledore's tomb. He stopped to gather his thoughts, owing to Dumbledore at least his whole concentration if not a great deal more.

-0-0-0-0-0-

From the front doors of the Entrance Hall, Minerva hid in the shadows of the doorframe. She had watched Harry all the way to the final hill before the resting place of her truest friend. When he stopped, she moved off the stoop only to see Harry take a small step backwards. It was so small of a step that she wondered if he'd even realised he'd made a gesture of escape. He stayed still for a few short minutes before squaring his shoulders and walking forward towards the imposing figure of the white marble tomb.

Slowly, with soft steps, Minerva began a pilgrimage of her own to pay her respects to her friend and to welcome Dumbledore's favourite student and most vested interest back to Hogwarts.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Although Harry's march across Hogwarts had been sedate at best, he slowed even more as he made his final steps to Albus Dumbledore's grave. He noticed with disinterest the wilting or brown flowers that seemed to indicate recent visitors. None of them stood out as particularly personal or meaningful.

Around the tomb was a ledge. It was about a foot deep and surrounded the tomb's base. Pausing to read the inscription on the marker, Harry sat down slowly while trying not to disturb the silence as he adjusted his travelling robes. He felt a cool breeze ruffle his hair from off the lake. It was soothing and offered a welcome of sorts to a wandering son.

"Professor Dumbledore. I- that is… I know that- I'd hoped that. Er. It's that- it- I." Harry broke off from his stumbling attempts at a monologue or eulogy- his first attempt to speak to Dumbledore since the night he'd fallen so treacherously. He sighed, frustrated, unable to say what he'd planned. "I wanted to…" He trailed off, clenching his fists and rolling his eyes skywards.

He stared at the inscription:

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian,Ab uno disce omnes. _

"This is ridiculous. Why did I even come?" Harry stood up, turned and started at seeing another person.

"Yes. Why did you?"

"Professor McGonagall. I'm sorry… I didn't mean to intrude, it's just that- Well, I came to say… but then- The gate was unlocked."

"And you're normally so much more eloquent, Mr Potter. A few weeks away from us and you lose your ability to converse."

"I'm sorry, professor. It's just that… I don't know what to say. Not to you, not to him. But I wanted to come. I didn't really have a chance at the funeral."

Minerva stared at Harry for a moment before walking by him and sitting on the ledge at the base of the tomb. She patted the space beside her in invitation. Harry barely hesitated before sitting beside her.

"Where are Mr Weasley and Miss Granger?"

"I left the inn without them. I don't think they know I'm gone. I- I just wanted a chance to see him on my own, without my shadows." Harry reddened immediately. "Not to say that they're-" He sighed. "I just wanted to be alone for a bit."

"That's understandable. So why are you here specifically?"

"I wanted to talk to Professor Dumbledore. But… well, it's harder than I thought it would be."

"Mr Potter, you're seventeen and I have no influence over you. So I ask you, not tell you: what was it you came to say to him? Practice it through with me."

Harry looked across the lake at middle distance staring while seeing nothing. He swallowed once with a little bit of difficulty before he turned back to Minerva. "I wanted to say thank you… I wanted to thank him for the lessons and let him know that I won't get off track. That I won't get distracted this time. I'll work hard until I finish. I just wanted to let him know that I won't let the lessons go to waste. That I can do this."

"Harry. Of course you can. You never disappointed him- Ah, ah. Don't interrupt, please. I may no longer be your professor, but I still know more than you do." She paused briefly as Harry snorted self-deprecatingly. "You frustrated him and tested him, but he was never disappointed."

Harry locked eyes with Minerva before he stood and looked at the inscription again.

Minerva stood and put her hand on Harry's shoulder for a brief moment. After she removed it, they stood in silence for a long time just contemplating the tomb and the man who rested within.

The sun reached its apex hidden behind the clouds before Harry moved again. He cleared his throat quickly and loudly before reaching into his cloak. He pulled from an interior pocket a small bouquet of flowers. It was a wreath of holly circling a clutch of heather, obviously spelled to stay fresh considering the hours they must have spent inside Harry's pocket.

Minerva considered the bouquet as Harry placed it before commenting, "Very appropriate selection." As Harry's questioning look she continued. "Wild flowers. Strong flowers. Native flowers."

Harry turned to her. "There was no symbolism in my choice. I read it in a poem once and it stuck."

"Mm. Mr Potter, your friends are waiting for you."

Harry spun around and looked up the path. He couldn't see anyone. "Professor?"

"At the gates. They couldn't get in. The protective spells remain."

"But-"

"Save journey, Mr Potter."

Minerva began the climb back up to the castle without pausing or looking back at her former charge.

Harry turned back to the tomb, touched the cool marble top with his empty wand hand. Whispering, he said, "Sir, thank you. I'll come back when it's all over. I'll come back, I hope, and let you know that it all worked out. Just- I. Thank you."

Harry then began the trek back to the gates. When he arrived, he found Ron and Hermione sitting against the fence. They looked up when the gates sprung open for him.

"Hey, mate. Find what you were after?" Ron asked while munching on an apple.

"Are we done here?" Hermione asked patiently, expectantly.

"Hey. Thanks for waiting. I'm not done, but yeah, we can go."

"Good. The next train to the South leaves Hogsmeade Station at 1pm. If we rush back into town, we can probably make it. We'll probably have to connect along the way to make it Godric's Hollow, but…"

Harry listened to Hermione plan while he mulled over his morning spent at the White Tomb. _Ab uno disce omnes._ From one person learn all people. Time to test out his lessons.

_**La fin**_

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End file.
